* * * * *
Two plump silvery beetles screamed through the thin stratosphere high
above the little planet. Behind them, dropping below the horizon, a
needle stood gleaming in a black thumbprint. It was no longer possible
to make out the smudge marring the _Apollo's_ alabaster flank, much
less the team now hanging in buckets from eyebolts high in the nose,
chipping away the cracked and carbonized glaze--cracked by last night's
fall and carbonized by the hell-fires of the righting operation.
In one beetle rode the wiry Sturgis and stocky Kemp. In the other, the
rangy blond, Greene, handled the controls while Pritchard studied the
face of Thisbe II rolling slowly under them.
"Got any ideas yet as to what hit us last night?" said Greene.
"Nope." After righting the ship, they'd turned on the floodlights, but
neither then nor in the broad light of day was there any sign or trace
of their visitor. A burial detail had laid McManus the traditional six
feet into the crust of Thisbe II. The long red thing had flopped and
tossed startlingly as they sank hooks into it and dragged it off into
the grass.
"Must have been the tail of something big, huh? How come it got past
the radar?"
Pritchard shrugged and continued to peer attentively ahead.
"Sure is a mighty pretty hunk of country," sighed the blond boy. "In
places it reminds me of the stuff around the Cumberland Gap. If it
weren't for that lavender sunlight, that is."
Pritchard didn't answer, his eyes steadily sweeping the terrain
unfolding ahead.
"That was a hell of a thing happened to poor Tom last night," Greene
went on. "Do you figure he had much pain before it finished him?"
Pritchard made no response.
"Tom was a right good boy, and a hard man to beat once he had the
chance to get his feet under him. Remember the time big Hayes hit him?"
There was no answer. Greene sat relaxed, one foot on the rudder bar and
an index finger curled indolently around the jet firing toggle.
"Boy, old Hayes let him have it before Tom was set. Just like you
clipped him yesterday."
"I thought you'd say that." Pritchard's voice was even. "You an' the
rest of the boys want to be sure I don't forget that, don't you?"
"I wasn't meaning a thing, chief," complained the other. "Hell, we
understand. Tom made a mistake and--and--well...."
"You can pass the word," said Pritchard softly, his eyes remaining hard
on the vista ahead. "You can pass the word that I haven't forgotten the
last thing Tom McManus had from me. Nor am I likely to--"